


Beta Listener

by Arazsya



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Holidays, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/pseuds/Arazsya
Summary: “So?” Georgie shuffles her own meal out of her lap, leans forward. “What did you think?”“I think if their socks are that good,” Melanie announces, with practiced spite, “you should be paying for the honour of promoting them.”
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2020





	Beta Listener

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aisydays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisydays/gifts).



It feels like it takes an _age_ – a proper, geological one. Georgie is pretty sure that Melanie does it on purpose, has turned down the playback speed in her app or something. Won’t let her out of her misery until she’s _sure_ that she’s given up on all pretence of not studying her face for her reactions. Not that she gives any – she manages to keep her face carefully blank for the full twenty minutes the episode takes, plus ads, and all the while, the food’s getting cold.

Finally, after, Georgie is sure, all the sea life they could name has sunken down into sediment in preparation for the next epoch, Melanie hooks one earphone out, and goes back to her takeaway. Makes a meal out of chasing a dumpling around her carton, but doesn’t actually eat it, clearly just _waiting_ to be asked. 

“So?” Georgie shuffles her own meal out of her lap, leans forward, impatient to oblige. “What did you think?”

“I think if their socks are _that_ good,” Melanie announces, with practiced spite, “you should be paying for the honour of promoting them.”

“Melanie.” It’s not that sharp, and even if it had been, Melanie would know it’s not meant to be. This is one of their familiar rituals, a well-established twice-monthly tradition, to the point that their call to the takeaway is always expected.

“What do you want me to say?” The dumpling is speared by Melanie’s fork, and then she’s talking around a bite of it, words muffled. “Krampus is overdone now and you know it. Everyone’s heard about him already, no one finds him particularly scary, and it’s not like there are any fresh sightings to report on. Also, not a ghost.”

“It’s a bit late to rerecord it _now_ ,” Georgie comments, absently reaching out an arm to block the Admiral as he creeps towards her dinner, as if he thinks if he moves quietly enough she won’t notice. “And besides, Ghost Hunt UK hunted _plenty_ of non-ghosts. People in _quality entertainment_ shouldn’t throw stones.” 

“I didn’t say it was _bad_!” Melanie gestures wildly with her cutlery to illustrate the point, and the Admiral flees towards the window, throwing a discontented glare back over his shoulder. “I think it’s everything that your listeners are going to want out of a Christmas episode.”

“I can’t work out if that’s a compliment or not?”

“For you?” Melanie grins, then pauses in her meal to remove her other earphone. “Compliments. For your audience, who can say?” 

“Hm.” Georgie lets herself be distracted by it as Melanie starts to wind the wire around her fingers, the patterns of it familiar, hypnotic. “I suppose I’ll let you off this time, but–”

From the window, there’s a loud, pointed meow, as the Admiral demands their attention. He’s sitting up on the sill, back straight and ears pricked, gazing intently at something beyond the pane, fur bristling up to make him look even larger than usual.

“Do you need to explain to him that you can’t actually fix the cold again?” Melanie sets her phone down, turning her face in his direction with a slow fondness. “Maybe just move him back to the radiator.”

“No, no it’s – it’s snowing.” Georgie stands, leaving her meal forgotten on the couch, and goes to stand behind him, gazing out. It’s been a long time since she’s seen anything like this – feels even longer. The flakes are falling thick and fast, some of them catching on the glass, holding their forms for a moment before the warmth in the flat melts them. The wind ripples through them in flurries, chasing shifting patterns through the sky, and Georgie is sure, with the same tentative enchantment she’d felt as a child, that it’ll stick. First snow since the world had been restored, she thinks, with a faint shiver, that she tells herself is from the draught. 

“Oh.” Melanie pauses for a second, weighing it up. “Well. Just when you thought the apocalypse had been averted.”

“Shut up, I’m enjoying the moment.” Sure, London will collapse in on itself in a flailing panic of unprepared infrastructure, but neither of them needs to go anywhere. They’ll be safe and warm inside in the normality they’ve built themselves, no matter how cold it gets out there, and no matter what monsters come to call.

Melanie joins her at the window, inclining her head to listen to the sound of the weather beyond. She’ll feel it, too, even if she can’t see it when the city’s lost in white-out. 

The Admiral meows again, and dabs his paw at one of the snowflakes on the other side of the glass, tail waving with interest, brushing in soft strokes against Georgie’s wrist. Melanie’s hand moves to rest against her other one, as she leans in so their shoulders brush.

“They really will love it,” Melanie adds, quietly, as if the snow-hush is already starting for her. “You don’t have to worry. Never do.”

“I’m not _worried_ ,” Georgie says, lets Melanie twine their fingers together. “But thanks.”

She leans into Melanie, with a moment’s regret for only getting enough mistletoe for inside of the bedroom door, because this really would be the perfect storybook moment, wouldn’t it? And instead she’d chewed her lip and tried to picture the flat, how she’d be able to make _sure_ that the Admiral wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near it, decided that it was better to take the simpler course.

Then she shakes her head, shoving aside a moment’s self-directed bemusement, and gently turns Melanie towards her. They’re dating, after all. She doesn’t need an excuse to kiss her beta listener.


End file.
